


One Call Away

by forsimplicityssake



Category: Good Girls Revolt
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Drama, F/M, Friendship, I want romance though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-09-01 04:58:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8609704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forsimplicityssake/pseuds/forsimplicityssake
Summary: What if Jane had gone to find Sam after he called her.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I've just started Good Girls Revolt and I'm already in love with Sam and Jane. I don't know how season one will end and I'm not even done with this episode but this scene really got to me. Oh, Jane.
> 
> Also, I don't know if she knew Noah's address but for the sake of this whole plot, let's pretend she did.

Cindy and Patti were laughing wildly on her bed, the evening’s cocktails working their way through warm limbs and loose lips. They called loudly from her room, “Why don’t you just ball him already?”

“Shut up!” Jane snapped back, her voice rising an octave with a slight twinge of indignation. Of course she found her reporter to be handsome and kind and she was certain the girls knew that, but it didn’t matter right now. He sounded off, as if something was bothering him. She liked to believe that they had worked together long enough to be able to read one another. They had a mutual understanding, or so she thought, of where they stood. He would flirt with her, she would flirt back—a little more so now that Chad was out of the picture—but they never pushed it any further. Doing so would break the spell that currently held them suspended but content.  
   
“Sam, I’m so sorry, I could barely hear you. Do you need something?” The weight of what was happening tomorrow pulled her away ever so slightly from the conversation, but he had sounded so unsure of himself, a trait Sam Rosenberg rarely showed nowadays, and it bothered her.

The other line was quiet for a beat, the faraway sounds of traffic and static muffling his small intake of breath.

“No, I’m, uh— I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Just as she was sure he was about to hang up, the simple word of goodbye on his lips, her voice broke in, “No, wait Sam.”

In the background, Cindy somewhat drunkenly slurred, “The future can wait, Jane.”

Jane cupped a hand over her other ear, focusing herself on the man on the phone.

“Jane…” He sounded broken. 

“Where are you?” 

Another beat and then a sigh of resignation. Finally his voice came through, a soft exhale of breath, “Outside Noah’s.”

It was all she needed to know before she replied, “I’ll be right there.” 

She was off like a shot, the telephone clattering to the floor as she spun around and dashed into her room. Patti sat up so fast Cindy dropped her drink, the last of its contents splattering over the bedspread.  
   
“Oh God, I’m sorry—”

“—are you going?”

There were very few times in Jane Hollander’s life when she cared little of what she looked like; the hours after Chad dumped her, when she was young and her cat had taken off outside in a thunderstorm, and now, the night when Sam called her.

“He needs me,” was all she was able to get out as she found the first jacket in her closet and a pair of penny loafers on the floor.

Patti looked worriedly at Cindy before they both righted themselves on the bed. The redhead’s mouth fell open, a kind word or two briefly on the tip of her tongue before she thought better of it. Cindy, pragmatic Cindy, unfolded her legs before walking off to find Jane’s bag. Patti followed her friend down the hall where the third woman stood waiting.

“I have to, a cab— I mean…”

“Go,” Patti offered.

Jane, hands trembling, took her purse from Cindy before glancing briefly at both of them. The brunette nodded at her and then she was gone, the door slamming behind her, the sound of her shoe soles clapping down the otherwise desolate stairs.

Once outside, the cold March wind hit her face and Jane almost stopped herself. What was she doing? What could she do? What had happened? The inner debutante in her told her to collect herself and return inside. Maybe sit down. But the want-to-be reporter, the fighter, the feministic larger part of her, told her to get her ass in a cab and to the friend waiting.

A car horn honked and Jane shook her head before throwing a hand out in the air, practically demanding the next taxi to not even think about driving past her.

A yellow cab pulled up to the curb and Jane wrenched the door open, before barking orders, and sitting back, her mind whirling around her. She had about five minutes to figure out why she was acting like this, but her only thoughts were about Sam. 

City lights floated past the windows and people walked by calmly. The drive to Noah’s apartment passed in a blur, her thoughts unable to form anything remotely coherent and suddenly Jane saw the blood-chilling sight of police cars and the phone booth that he must have called her from. No one was inside.

The cab stopped and she realized she had no idea what to say. The normally cool and collected researcher, the woman with a thousand words of condolences and battle plans, had nothing. The cabbie turned to her.

“Miss. Miss, this is your stop.”

“I, uh—“

“Listen lady, I’ve got fares to earn tonight so either pay up or tell me where you want to go if this isn’t it. I ain’t got time for this.”

The abruptness of his words jostled her. Digging into her bag, she found the money and handed it to him taking no notice to the bills. By the brief look of surprise on his face, it was too much but right now nothing mattered but finding Sam.

Jane got out of the cab, her eyes scanning the faces of passersby and police, a few going in and out of Noah’s apartment building. Finally, there.

There he was.

His shoulders were slouched, his jacket hanging loosely by a few fingers in his right hand, the sleeves touching the ground. Noah wasn’t with him. That was her second thought: where was Noah?

Ever since the story had broke about Vietnam vets coming home to very little, Sam and Noah had rekindled their friendship and had been practically inseparable outside of work. Always together at the bar, always laughing outside the office.

She took a few steps towards him and again, her lack of words held her back. Their banter had been their strongest bond and now she had nothing. What could she say when she didn’t know what was happening? How could she approach him without knowing how he would react?

She watched him, the dejected look dragging on his body, the way he tilted his head back slightly as if searching for something above him. He kicked at the ground with the tip of his shoe. He rubbed a hand over his face.

Oh God.

Jane took a deep breath, an idea of what must have transpired passing through her. Her heart fell. She compartmentalized her feelings; she could deal with her own later.

Taking a step forward it was as if they had sensed each other, their spirits reaching out to touch one another, and he turned. Everything was background to them. Only their locked gaze registered. She saw it all laid out before her: the pain, the confusion, the loss.

Then. And then. Then…

He was taking one step and then two. His coat thrown to the ground, he was walking towards her. There were tears brimming in his eyes, his cheeks red from holding something in. Jane’s heart broke, finally, into a thousand shattered pieces. She had always thought of Sam as a tough man, his emotions something he tapped into briefly when it was required of him. He was fun and jovial, the deep conversations saved for when they mattered most. And now here was, seconds from the edge, an unraveling string on the verge of disintegrating. 

Jane dropped her purse and held out her hands, the rest of her body unmoving. She welcomed him into her arms, the cold of his fingers biting into her where she had been previously warm from the cab ride over. 

He was suddenly all around her. His arms, strong and shaking, scooping her to him until he all but consumed her. A hand on her back, a hand in her hair, a mouth near her ear, breaths ragged and damp.

Jane responded, her arms around him, fingers smoothing, or at least attempting to, the rigid muscles of his shoulders and back. She cooed as a mother would to her wounded child. No words, just sounds. Her back bent in an attempt to upright both her and him. He was crying now, body trembling and tears hot. She wouldn’t think any less of him.

They stood together, braced against the world, silently. For hours or minutes, neither of them moved and then she felt it, his lips against her cheek, close to the shell of her ear.

Then, she heard it. The soft woosh of his breath and the first words that would lead to the rest of the night:

“Thank you.”


End file.
